"What's stopping you?" I whisper back, and his half-lidded eyes go wide. As slowly and lazily as he does everything else, he moves his front hand from the shelf and places it on my hip. His other hand comes up and he tickles beneath my chin with his long fingers. My head drops back and my eyes close as he leans in toward me.
Our mouths brush, but just barely. It's too much of a tease, and I feel myself start to shake with all of this suppressed need, all these crazy hormones. I've spent two years chasing after and being chased by the Idols. At this point in our relationship, we're working on forgiveness, and trying to build new friendships.
Before, there were obstacles in front of us every time we kissed, whether I was aware of them or not.
But right now, there's nothing but air.
Lifting up on my toes, I complete the contact, my lips pressing tight against his.
Heat sears through me, and Creed surges forward, pressing his entire body against mine. His knee goes between my legs, and his right arm sweeps my waist. My back is now pressed tight to the books, the front of my body rubbing against Creed. I can feel my nipples tighten to hard points, my core flush with warmth.
Creed parts my lips with his tongue, tasting me, and making this rough sound that's so at odds with his insouciant personality that I'm almost startled into putting my hands on his shoulders. He presses deeper into me, testing my limits, but I'm completely relaxed. I want to see what happens when we kiss without restraint.
My right hand slides down, and I slip it inside his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin against my palm. He groans, and I forget for a minute that we're in the library. My hand comes down and I forcefully part a few more of those buttons.
"Fuck," he curses after a minute, turning his head away from mine. We're still all pressed together, and with my right hand, I can feel his heart thundering in his chest. "Damn it. Why do I like you so much?"
"My winning personality?" I joke, and Creed snorts, but we're both panting and shaking. There's a tension inside of me, like a string's been pulled taut between my lips and my core. I want … more. More than this. So much more. "The real question should be: why do I like you? You're a major jerk, Creed Cabot."
"An insufferable asshole," he agrees, turning back to look at me. This time, the heavy-lidded bedroom eyes aren't just for show. This time, I can tell he wants more, too. Creed's kind of a … virgin. That's what Miranda said. Do I believe it? Does it matter?
Or maybe it does?
Maybe I'd rather lose my virginity to another virgin?
Or am I overthinking this?
"We should get back to the project," I whisper, but I don't take my hand out of his shirt.
"I'm not going to lie: I have a raging hard-on right now. I am absolutely not going back to write about crusty old white dudes."
"You …" I start, but then words just fail me. I'm stuck between a giggle and a fresh bloom of lust. My eyes drift down, but Creed beats me to it by grabbing one of my hands and placing it right over the hard bulge in his crotch. I make a small sound, and he groans. When he lets go of me, I don't move my hand.
We're both staring at each other now, panting hard, quivering with need.
"Marnye!" I hear Miranda call my name cheerfully from the study area, and I know she's found our stuff. She'll know we're here.
It's like a bucket of ice water's been thrown over the two of us. Creed jerks back and turns, raking his fingers through his hair and cursing. Me, I shuffle back to the table and find Miranda leafing through one of the old yearbooks I pulled out.
She glances up and then crinkles her brow.
When she sees her brother close behind me, holding a book over his crotch, her brows practically go up to her hairline.
"What the hell are you two doing in here?"
"Discussing how you've always copied me, even as a child." Creed sweeps his bookbag up and levels a devastating glare on his sister. Most people would shrink back from that look, but Miranda barely blinks. She must be used to it.
“Because I wanted my hair cut short when we were five? That's me 'always'”—she makes little quotes with her fingers—“copying you?”
"I'm just saying, the first girl I've ever truly liked and you decide to go after her, too? You're the epitome of annoying little sister."
Miranda chucks a pencil at him, and he dodges, still covering his crotch.
"I'm ten minutes younger than you, you prick!"
Creed sweeps blond hair from his forehead, in the boys' version of a hair flip. He is disturbingly good at it.
"I have to go. Try not to make-out with my future girlfriend while I'm gone." He moves past us, and Miranda tosses another pen at him. This one nails him right in the back of the neck, and he pauses briefly to turn another earthshaking glare on her before he spins back around and gets the hell out of Dodge.
My body is on fucking fire.
Being seventeen sucks.
"What were you two doing in the shadowy aisles, hmm?" Miranda purrs, but I just sit down in the chair with a huff.
"Just kissing," I say, but I wonder … if we hadn't been in the library, and we hadn't been interrupted, how much farther would we have gone?
With off-campus privileges restored, it's actually a possibility for us all to take a little trip into town together. I'm so nervous when we meet in the front courtyard … until I spot Zayd pretending to hump the statue of the stag. Or maybe he's trying to ride it? I'm not sure, but I'm already covering my mouth to hold back a snort of laughter when I walk around to the front of the fountain.
"Don't make a bet you know you can't win," Zayd crows, howling with laughter as he scrabbles up onto the deer's back, and gets out his phone. It's Saturday, and I swear, it's like an electronics frenzy sweeps the school when we all get our phones back. The addiction is real. He takes several pics of himself, and then notices me standing there.
"Zayd Warren Kaiser," I say, putting my hands on my hips. I've got on tight, dark skinny jeans, red leather boots that I stole from Miranda's closet, and a tight, corset-like top with little buttons down the front. I feel good today, confident, but now that I'm standing out in the brisk fall breeze, I'm wondering why I didn't bring a jacket. "What are you doing up there?"
"Uh, riding the stag?" he says, and then cringes when Ms. Felton's voice snaps out.
"Mr. Kaiser, climbing the courtyard statue is worth two marks. Get down from there right now." She marches up to the brick half-wall that surrounds the fountain and crosses her arms over her chest.
Zayd hops off the statue, but whatever stupid bet he just made, he's clearly won. Creed is scowling, so I'm figuring he was on the opposite end of this particular bet.
"Miss Reed," Ms. Felton says, noticing me standing there. She glances over at Creed and Zayd, and then pauses as Tristan Vanderbilt strolls in, dressed in black jeans, black boots, and a crisp black button-down with the sleeves pushed up. I do my best not to drool. "Is everything okay out here?"
"Everything's A-OK," Zayd says, swinging an arm around my neck. He presses a kiss to my cheek, and I raise a brow. "We're all friends now."
Ms. Felton doesn't look convinced.
In fact, even Mrs. Amberton pulled me aside the other day to check with me. Because I work so hard to block the bad memories, sometimes it's hard to remember that the entire academy staff saw me humiliated so badly. Nobody missed the Idols throwing my panties onto the stage. Nobody.
"I'm okay, Ms. Felton," I reassure her. Every day I hang out with these guys, I wonder though. What would happen if they betrayed me again? What would I do? But what I've realized now is that I'm so much stronger than I was before. No matter what they do to me, I can survive it. I can thrive.
And they better not because the second time around, my vengeance would be a hundredfold.
"Well, if you ever need privacy to discuss anything, you can see me in my office." She gives Zayd a very stern look and then heads for the doors of Tower One. The Towers are so beautiful, so medieval looking, their
white stone sides stretching up into the sky. Twelve floors each, and the home of every single student in the school but me.
"That was awkward," Zayd says, as he takes his arm from my shoulders, and I glance between him and Creed.
"So … what were the stakes this time?" I ask dryly. The crossed out infinity tattoo on my hip seems to burn with hatred. I haven't even begun to work on Harper and Co. but when I do, they'll know it. I'm just trying to get situated. Third year is hugely important when it comes to applying for colleges. In fact, I'm already preparing for that whole event, all the financial aid forms, the scholarship applications (I have no problem being known as the scholarship girl in college if it means I get to go), and the essays.
By the end of this year, I need to have my schools selected, and my applications in before summer's over. It seems so strange that my entire fate rests on the decisions I make now. It could literally alter the entire course of my life. Seems like a heavy burden to place on a teenager, but what do I know?
"I now owe him back the signed Gibson SG John Lennon and George Harrison guitar that I won from him in a previous bet," Creed says with a sigh, and Zayd grins.
"Don't bet a trickster," he says, and then lifts his phone to show me that riding the stag was not the only thing he had to do. No, he was most definitely humping it.
I roll my eyes, and then feel a little thrill as a big, warm body sidles up next to me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I find Zack in jeans, a t-shirt, and his varsity jacket. Actually, I was just given one myself for cheerleading. That's what I should've worn to beat the cold.
Zack's dark eyes take me in, and I shiver as a cold breeze sweeps dry leaves into the courtyard, swirling them around my feet. He notices, too, and it only takes him a split-second to shed his jacket and put it over my shoulders.
"Zack," I start, but he shakes his head at me.
"Take it."
"It's cold out," I protest, but he's clearly already made up his mind, crossing his arms over his broad chest and staring at me until I sigh and slip my arms back into the sleeves.
"Shall we?" Tristan asks, as Windsor steps out of Tower Three's door and gives a little wave.
"I thought Miranda was coming?" I ask, but Creed shakes his head.
"Check your phone." He points at me, and I struggle to push back memories from that day in the library last week. Ugh. I pull my phone from the little harp-shaped purse that Lizzie got me for my birthday, and take a quick glance at my texts.
Volleyball thing came up! I'm so sorry! She's added a bunch of crying, heart, and praying hand emojis, and I smile. Andrew already had to bow out to work on an essay he's struggling with, and Lizzie ended up paired with Myron on a science project they have to finish.
So … it's just me and the guys.
We're off to the town of Lujo again to collect parts for our Halloween costumes, have some lunch, and maybe visit the bookstore there. It's one of the oldest in California, and Zack teased me by telling me about the building it's housed in: I guess it's both an architect's dream and a history buff's greatest fantasy.
"Are we driving?" I ask, feeling this little hiccup of excitement and nervousness. Students aren't technically allowed to keep or use personal cars without special permission, but we all do it anyway. Doesn't mean we can blatantly speed off down the road. We actually applied for off-campus permits for today, so we could spend the night at the little bed and breakfast in town.
I had no idea I was going with just the guys.
My heart thunders, and I clutch my tiny rolling suitcase that Andrew bought me.
"I ordered a car," Tristan says, fixing the cuffs on his rolled-up shirt. "Parking in Lujo's a nightmare, and the hotel doesn't have its own lot."
"It's a bed and breakfast," I remind him with a smile. "Big difference." He gives me a look, but we're interrupted by a huge white limousine pulling up curbside. The driver gets out and opens the door, and the boys let me get in first.
I end up sitting on the far side, next to a bucket with ice and some chilling champagne.
“That's for us,” Tristan says with a shrug, and even though I’ve seen them drink plenty, it’s always surprising to me how casual they are about it. Most teenagers are content with a six pack of beer, but not the Burberry Prep brats. No, they’re only content with hard liquor, champagne, and good wine. Beer is a last resort. “That is, for those of us who drink. There are sodas, juice, and iced teas in the fridge.”
"Thank you," I quip as Zayd grabs the champagne and pops the cork, making us all jump. I get a glass bottle of unsweetened iced tea, and screw the top off, wondering how Tristan's managed to get us this limo and all this stuff when there's no doubt in my mind that his dad is angry with him.
Creed asks the question before I can.
"How did you get your dad to send a car when he so very clearly wants to murder you?"
"I told him I was taking Harper on a makeup date, and he immediately agreed," Tristan says, checking his red and black Rolex, the one I retrieved from the trash. He hasn't taken it off since we started school, and I suspect that has something to do with his father. "She should be showing up to the courtyard right about …”
Tristan pushes the button for the sun roof, and it opens, spilling golden light into the back of the limo. He glances over at me and holds out a hand.
"Help me with this." I take his palm, and feel a little jolt of electricity ping through me as Tristan and I both stand up on the seat, looking out the roof as the limo rolls around the circular drive.
Harper is standing on the steps, all dressed up in a tight black dress and heels, gaping at us. As she watches, Tristan spins me toward him, cups the side of my face, and kisses the hell out of me.
For a heartbeat there, I forget where I am or what we're doing or why we're doing it. All I can think about is the hot taste of his mouth, the way his tongue expertly takes over the moment. He's an incredible kisser, and it's obvious he's had plenty of practice. There's something sexy about that in its own way, like I enjoy the fact that Tristan knows exactly how to take care of me.
Zack makes a frustrated sound, and I pull back, panting.
But the job's been done: Harper is furious.
She's come down the steps, and is screaming something at us that I can't quite hear. The grin on Tristan's face is truly malicious, but now that I'm not on the receiving end of it, I'm enthralled.
He's got a dark delicacy to him, a sensual cruelness, that draws me in like a moth to flame. I know I'll be burned, and I don't care. My wings will spark with embers, and shrivel up, and I'll fall, but that warm, dry palm will be there to catch me.
Shit.
I'm doing it again.
The waxing poetic thing.
I duck back into the limo and find my seat again. Zayd leaves me alone for about two seconds before he pulls me in his lap, and I like the feel of him against me so much that I just … relax.
"That was a nice bit of revenge," I say with a smile. Normally, I'd never do something like that. But Harper, she's crossed so many lines. She tried to drown me in a swimming pool. Having her feelings momentarily stung is nothing in comparison.
"I'm assuming Mr. Vanderbilt won't be pleased when he finds out this was a ruse?" Windsor guesses, holding a glass of champagne in one hand and watching Tristan with those bright hazel eyes of his.
"Harper won't say a word. She'll be too ashamed." Tristan accepts a glass from Creed and sips it, closing his charcoal gray eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he stares at me sitting in Zayd's lap and his fingers tighten on the glass' stem.
"What if you're wrong about that?" I ask, and Tristan's face tightens slightly.
"Then I'll pay dearly," he says with a sigh. "But that'll come later. Right now, I just want to enjoy my weekend."
"Are you going to be wearing a snack costume, too?" I ask, because Miranda, Andrew, Zack, Windsor, and I already decided on a Halloween theme: food. Popcorn, hotdogs, French fries, etc. Anything snack-y and f
un. Lizzie's in, too. So is Zayd, and Miranda promised Creed would do it if she told him to.
Tristan is the only one I'm not sure about, and the only one I'm really struggling to imagine in a goofy costume.
"A snack costume?" he repeats, and Windsor laughs.
"It was Marnye's idea," the prince says, grinning. "I'm going to purposely leak a photo of myself, so it goes viral. My mother will be pulling her hair out. She hates scandals, you know."
"So you go out of your way to perpetuate them?" I ask, and Windsor grins. That's a definite yes.
"Snacks," Tristan repeats, and I nod.
"You know, like you can go as a bowl of fruit, or a bag of mixed nuts—"
"Tristan loves nuts, that should suit him," Zayd interjects, and I ignore him.
"—a giant cookie, a slice of pizza, that sort of thing." I grin as Tristan looks at me like I'm crazy. "Trust me: I went as a living macaron cookie last year. It can be done tastefully. We'll find you something. Besides, you're the one who said you wanted to present a united front to the other students. What better way than dressing alike for Halloween?"
Tristan doesn't say anything else, but I can see him contemplating over there, the wheels and cogs in his mind spinning.
Everyone goes quiet for a while, but I can feel Zack watching me, reading far too much into me sitting on Zayd's lap.
It's just sort of a thing he does, has always done. But when I think about it, it is kind of … intimate. I turn my gaze over to Zayd, my arms wrapped around his neck, and I find that we're really close. Close enough to kiss.
I bite my lower lip and look away.
Windsor breaks the tension by discussing Halloween and his plans for a party at his place. Usually we have it at the cemetery on campus, so this would be a way to shake things up. It'll be interesting to see how many people follow us there … and how many stay with Harper.
Ugh.
All this political intrigue is driving me nuts.
But, hey, Tristan likes nuts, right?
I'm so excited by the time we get to Lujo that I'm the first out the door when it opens, practically skipping into the café where I went with Creed and Miranda. According to the guys, the girls made their bet just before winter formal, so when he bought me those shoes, he knew. I push that information aside, peering into the glass and looking at the sea of pretty pastries.
The Envy of Idols Page 12